The address took Blaine to quaint suburban neighborhood in nearby Lima, Ohio, which was something he definitely wasn't expecting.

In the sketchy way he was approached by the mysterious woman at Burt's speech, he was expecting a run down shack of some kind, or a dusty library, or a hole-in-the wall meeting place where convicts and felons hung out.

None of which were likely to give him answers anyway. But he still decided to investigate.

210 Wicker Place had a neatly trimmed lawn and an adorable dog barking in the window as Blaine pulled up. There was an old Buick in the driveway and a full mailbox leading up to the walkway. Blaine got out nervously and closed his door, not quite sure what he was getting himself into.

As he rung the doorbell, he reasoned that if all else would fail the most he would have to do was make an excuse that he was given the wrong address to a friend's place. It couldn't hurt to just check.

Obviously since I drove 75 miles, Blaine thought grumpily.

An elderly woman answered the door looking wary, her husband hovering behind her. They looked so familiar-

"Are you Blaine?"

Blaine stared, his body stiff at her sudden question. He then nodded minutely, cursing himself for being so reckless. Too many people knew his true name now. But how much trouble could an old couple really be anyway?

The woman looked relieved, beckoning him inside.

"Please come in, we have a lot to discuss," her husband said hurriedly.

"Who are you?" Blaine found himself asking once he was facing them in their living room, after admiring all the knick-knacks and abundance of books.

The woman placed her hand gently on his shoulder, smiling a bit sadly.

"We're the Hummels."

***

Kurt had nothing but time now to work on his heartache.

The speech was a success. Rachel was planning the most elaborate Recruitment Ball of all time with a masquerade twist that barely required any of his help. Kurt talked to countless people inspired by him and his father, but he couldn't brush the pit of hollow despair he felt like he was constantly falling into.

He missed Blaine more and more every day, and it was worse seeing and feeling him so near.

Today, however, Kurt couldn't feel him. He seemed far away, or at least out of reach. But he tried to not let it trouble him. I shouldn't ever let it trouble me, Kurt reminded himself; he needed to push Blaine out.

It was something Kurt needed to do for himself. He had to go on living his life contentedly as he once did before he met Blaine. One person, soulmate or not shouldn't take that autonomy away from you. It goes against not only everything he believes but it makes him feel insignificant.

Kurt never wanted to be defined by anyone else except for his father. But maybe he didn't need that, either. He didn't need anyone, or at least he wished he didn't.

There wasn't a person in sight as Kurt walked out of headquarters and down a deserted alley to be finally be alone, deciding to take the long way home.

He waited for his mind to rejoin his solidarity and continue his contemplation about himself and his life when he realized he wasn't alone. A figure was walking toward him. Kurt squinted, trying to make out a face.

"You," Kurt practically snarled, feeling his face heat with a combination of strong emotion.

It was the psychic, or whatever she was that he had met a while back when he went searching for answers, except she looked quite a bit different; simpler clothing of a tank top and a long skirt with combed out hair.

She wore nothing but a dark blue handkerchief on her left wrist.

"Kurt," she greeted much more warmly than he had to begin with. She pushed the sunglasses she wore up her head, her entire expression relieved and utterly caring. Kurt didn't understand it.

"What are you doing here?" Kurt said coldly, walking briskly past her like she was merely a gust of wind. "Wanting to read my fortune? Take my money?"

"No," she replied calmly, keeping pace with him, putting her arm out in attempt to slow him down. "I don't have much time-"

"Oh are they coming again?" Kurt mocked. "Maybe it's just the voices in your head-"

"They who I speak of are a very real threat," she interjected heatedly. "More than you will ever know."

"I don't have time for this," Kurt sighed, pushing past her.

"Kurt Elizabeth Hummel!"

He stopped in his tracks, mouth agape as her shrieks echoed off the cobblestones. He turned to look at her stern expression, not even beginning to comprehend how she knew his entire name.

"You do not speak to a lady like that," she continued in a softer tone, reaching out for him. "We have a lot to discuss, especially about your father."

"What of my father?" Kurt found himself asking, looking her right in the eye, relaxing slightly.

When on all but most occasions Kurt felt most uncomfortable making direct eye-contact with a stranger, something about this woman made him feel safe and secure. That sense of trust tickled his intuition like the last time they met.

"First of all, you must never tell him of our meeting."

Kurt shook his head. "I won't."

She touched him then, gentle and soft on his forearm, leaning down to speak in his ear. What she whispered made him gasp.

***

There was some static feedback in Blaine's brain before he actually registered what they had said.

The Hummels.

They had the same last name as the name on his wrist, and he knew for certain this was absolutely no coincidence.

He was sent here.

But why? It didn't make sense, none of this did.

These weren't the kinds of answers Blaine was expecting. He had entirely different questions.

"What do you want from me?"

Panic. Pure, flooding panic that drained Blaine cold until he could feel nothing else but that. He crouched in a defensive position, feeling like he was about to be assaulted by this elderly duo. Their eyes widened, clearly surprised by Blaine's reaction.

"This is a safe place," the woman assured, her expression eager and sympathetic.

"How do I know that?" Blaine flung words at them wildly, eyes darting around the room. "How do you know so much about me?"

"If you calm down we can explain," the old man said in a commanding, resounding voice that made Blaine feel like he was experiencing a severe case of deja vu.

Why were they so familiar, have I met them before? Blaine asked himself, grabbing his chest and taking deep breaths in attempt to calm down.

"Who was it that sent me, that woman?" Blaine demanded.

"A friend," the old woman promised, making her position with her husband more passive as to not appear any more threatening.

The old man walked slowly away from her, eyes on Blaine as he made his way to the lower part of the bookshelf next to him. He proceeded to pull out something the size of a scrapbook and covered in dust. He brushed it off, coughing a little.

Blaine watched as he flipped through the still-glossy black and white pages, nostalgia evident in his eyes, a small smile wrinkling his weathered dimples.

"Here," he offered once he found the page he was seemingly looking for. Blaine stepped forward and carefully took the book from him - a yearbook, he found out and looked down at the page.

Rows and rows of faces with really bad haircuts and goofy smiles. It was the class of 1979, rightly so, but was this supposed to mean anything to him?

"I don't understand-" Blaine began, but then he saw.

There was a shock in his chest when he saw the much younger face of Burt, youthful, round and promising. He had hair and confidence with those same sparkling eyes that could emanate from the years lost. Blaine traced and followed his finger over to the side of the page to where all the names were listed.

Burt.. Hummel.

Hummel.

That was his last name. Burt Hummel, the man, the legend, the leader of the revolution. These were his parents, how could Blaine not realize sooner? They were two perfect halves that made up that specific physicality. But then-

That meant..

His son was a Hummel too. Kal.

Kal, the boy Blaine was so deeply in love with. Kal- Kal was an alias.

Blaine froze, the book falling from his grasp. It hit the floor surprisingly muffled by the carpet, but Blaine paid no mind. His fingers rushed to undo the bands that bound his cuff and basically tore it off to feast on the name upon his wrist.

Kurt Hummel. His soulmate. His one and only that he had rejected for most of his young life. A name that always haunted his dreams and nightmares. A name he knew that shouldn't mean anything since they would never meet.

But was he-?

"Our grandson," The old woman answered for him, so affectionately. She was now much closer, her head bowed over Blaine's outstretched wrist. Her fingers reached with intention to touch, but she gave Blaine space, for he was having the revelation of a lifetime.

Kal was Kurt. He was Kurt. Kurt Hummel. His Kurt.

Everything now made sense. Everything was perfect. Everything was beautiful. It didn't have to be complicated or painful anymore. It was so, so simple.

"Kurt," Blaine whispered passionately, and it felt so right. It felt like he should have known all along, but was too blind to see what was right in front of him. Emotion overtook him in the most enchanting of ways, forgetting that he had company near.

None of that mattered, only Kurt.

Then, a single tear fell on the name spoken, sealing fate.